Ephemera
by Skeptikitten
Summary: A series of 50 shorts, based on single-word prompts.  Mostly Death Note, LxLightxL.  Rated M just to be safe.
1. Brand

"_Ephemera" is a series of shorts derived from 50 word prompts randomly generated on - mostly because it amuses me to write snippets instead of epics sometimes and can update more regularly. These will mostly be from Death Note fandom with an LxLightxL pairing. However if the word particularly suits, I may insert a few stories from some of my other favorites here. The shorts are in no particular order, are independent of one another unless noted, and will be marked if they are not canon. _

_Enjoy my darlings, and remember- I own nothing and am totally not worth suing. _

First prompt from Death Note canon, slight Light x L.

**BRAND- **_noun_

**a ****mark****made**** by burning or otherwise, to indicate kind, ****grade,****make,****ownership,**** etc**.

a mark formerly put upon criminals with a hot iron.

any mark of disgrace; stigma.

L was gone, but the healed scars on Light's left wrist remained.

In those first giddy days of freedom following the fall of the World's Greatest Detective, Light reveled in his victory. He acted his heart out as the bereaved friend, crying and swearing vengeance with impassioned speech and flushed cheeks; it was his finest triumph, to make them all believe in his sorrow for a man who imprisoned and chained and _tortured_ him both physically and mentally. And believe him they did; even skeptical Aizawa placed a bracing hand on Light's shoulder when his voice trembled and broke as he spoke of becoming the new L. If it was just a little too quiet in the huge building when he worked on the computers alone at night…well, he was just too triumphant to notice.

In the first hectic months of work after the Detective's defeat, Light was smugly busy organizing his new empire as both Kira and L. He secured the Eyes by moving in with Misa, changed the Kira Headquarters to his own apartment, and finished his college career with record-breaking scores. The police- the _world_- began to dance to his tune; criminals were punished in mounting numbers as he hid behind the façade of serious student, then of grieving young man burdened with great responsibility too soon. And if his left arm sometimes felt oddly weightless and Misa's feminine sighs and soft curves seemed somehow _off_ at his side in bed at night…well, Light was just too occupied to dwell on it.

In the third year after L's death, Light became distracted by his ruse. Juggling the NPA, his family, and his dual roles as Kira and L were almost too easy; without his great rival the challenge was gone, the game forever ended. Light often found himself contemplating those months spent chained to his nemesis, and the conversations that flowed between them like water. Some were raging rapids, fraught with sharp rocks and riptides meant to tear Light's soul to pieces. Some were placid as a lake, the simple observations of two like minds. But his favorites were those that babbled like a shallow brook, wit and banter and interest skipping merrily over smooth stones, glittering in the sunlight. Those were the ones that made Light wistful; and if he sometimes came out of his memories too reluctantly, gently rubbing the silvery scar lines on his wrist…well, he was too good at self delusion to acknowledge it.

In the fourth year after he killed Ryuuzaki, Light became aware that his sanity was slipping. Even Ryuk seemed taken aback by his sharpness and cruelty now, at the uncharacteristically reckless hubris that marked his every move. His dreams were haunted by dark eyes and ravens' wings, and sometimes Light could almost see the phantom shape of his enemy-friend in the blued shadows of his computer screens. The nightmares of death and blood were not what broke him though, but the dream-memory of a long-ago September morning. In a moment of rare sleepiness, L had dropped his laptop carelessly onto the nightstand and rolled over to face his surly companion; Light had been relaxed for once, simply watching the patterns the golden sunset cast on the ceiling of their bedroom. L had slipped those long fingers into Light's hair and twisted a lock around them, grinning foolishly at the look of astonishment on his face. The detective's usual monotone was gone, and a half-smile quirked his thin lips as he told Light that his hair and eyes reminded L of the autumn sunset. One digit trailed softly along Light's cheek and across his lips as he whispered to his companion- "Autumn is my favorite time of year, Light-kun". Light awoke from that vision with an actual tear running down his face. Nothing had come from the incident, as Watari had intruded with cake just afterwards, but Light was obsessed now with that one frozen moment in time. Had L been trying to tell him something? Could there have been another fate, another path besides killing the only man who had ever truly _seen_ him? Useless thoughts, traitorous thoughts. And if he only now was able to acknowledge the half-mad emotion that he had felt towards L, if remembrances of fingers in his hair and a stroke of his lips felt more real than actual life…well, it was too damn late now. Light's course was set.

L was gone, but the brand he left on Light's soul would never fade.


	2. Brobdingnagian

_Second Prompt- coincidentally one of my favorite words. Definition will be found in the story this time._

_L x Light, Ragnarok Universe (Chapter 5 concurrent)_

"Brobdingnagian."

Light glanced over the rim of his reading glasses and raised an eyebrow. L's attempts to score points in their little game were getting really archaic. His lips twitched upwards in a slight grin.

"Of large size, gigantic, or tremendous. L's ego is of brobdingnagian proportions," Light replied easily, laughter in his voice. A thoughtful look crossed his face, then triumph. "Transubstantiationalism."

L laughed in earnest at this one, and Light flashed him a quick grin in return. The game had begun shortly after Light's installment in the penthouse suite of the Mandarin Hotel, now known as the "Ragnarok Case Headquarters". L had, when berating Mello for his rudeness, used a rather obscure adjective that the boy in question (and both Matt and Near as well) did not understand. L of course found this even more aggravating, but Light had been unable to completely stifle his amused laughter behind his hand.

"_Light-kun's first language is not English. I would be quite surprised if he knows what 'obstreperous' means either."_

_Light had bristled immediately at the jibe, which is of course what L was aiming for in the first place. "It means noisy or clamorous. Mello is an obstreperous wanker of the highest order."_

_A creepy smile began to form on L's lips at the quick response. "Very good, Light-kun. Perhaps we shall have to test you further on this."_

_Light's indignant sputtering at this was largely ignored, and the incident seemed forgotten. Forgotten, that is, until two hours later when L surprised him with a random outburst over tea._

"_Parergon."_

"_Work undertaken in addition to one's principal work; Watari's primary job is to be the public liaison for L, while his parergon is apparently to regulate his diet." A smirk pasted itself smugly onto Light's lips then. "Vexillographer."_

_L looked a bit taken aback at the quick riposte, but recovered almost immediately. "A person who designs and makes flags. The American Betsy Ross is probably the world's best known vexillographer ."_

_Both men had blinked awkwardly then, unaccustomed to drawing to a stalemate in a verbal spar. The laughter that followed, however, was uncharacteristically genuine for both of them._

The game had continued ever since, with L diverting him with a covert-fu bout of vocabulary testing whenever he thought he could catch the younger man off guard (or, as Light was convinced, when he thought of a particularly nasty word). They exchanged a single word each, and neither man had scored a single point yet. But this word was particularly…

"The Christian doctrine that the host and wine during their sacrament of Eucharist physically transforms into the body and blood of their savior figure. Catholics believe in transubstantiationalism, while Protestants believe in consubstantiationalism."

"Drat. I really thought that one was bizarre enough."

"I have worked for the Vatican on a few cases, Light-kun," L replied, heading for a box of doughnuts on the table and 'accidentally' knocking some powdered sugar into Light's tea. "I had to study some Catholic law and doctrine to solve it; which, by the way, is labyrinthine and I do not recommend it to anyone who does not wish for his brain to bleed."

"Wouldn't want that," Light quipped, pushing his now sugar-laden teacup across the table to L and filling an empty one for himself. He turned his attention back to his laptop, trying to pick up the thread of his profile report where he left off while simultaneously musing on a new obsolete lexicographic nightmare for the next round. They sat in a companionable silence, the only sound the gentle clacking of computer keys and the sipping of tea. Then L did something Light did not expect- he changed the game.

"Rapport."

Light looked up again, surprised. L's dark eyes were still focused on his teacup, a light blush dusting his pale cheeks, and Light's expression softened.

"This."

_For those who do not speak word-nerd, "rapport" is a strong understanding between people. I used to play this game with my husband when we were in college. Unlike Light-kun, I was able to stump __**my**__ man nearly every time. _


	3. Magnificent

_Third prompt is actually not Death Note. I was watching the Hetalia Axis Powers movie "Paint It White" the other day (in which America has a short but bad-ass fight scene, by the way), and poor Mattie caught my attention. Plus, my sister made me listen to the Canadian band Arrogant Worms and voila- this slightly longer ficlet was born. I'm not usually a huge fan of song in fiction, but this just fit. _

_So- Hetalia Axis Powers, Canada/US brotherly love, UKUS preslash._

**Magnificent –**_adjective_

making a splendid appearance or show; of exceptional beauty, size, etc

extraordinarily fine; superb: a magnificent opportunity; magnificent weather.

noble; sublime

"Hey, Russia?"

Distracted humming and vodka scent filled his senses, the voice sounding to his blocked ears as if coming through cotton wool.

"Oi, Russia. OI!"

The slightly nasal, baritone drawl was growing more irritated by the moment. Vaguely he could hear the rest of the G8 bickering in the background, but it was America who caught his attention. As usual.

"HEY COMMIE BASTARD!"

"Da?" Russia's voice sounded as pleasant and clueless as it ever did, but the underlying menace was recognizable to those who knew him best. And, he thought wryly, a touch of amusement had crept in as well. As he suspected, Ivan was ignoring Alfred on purpose to rile his old rival. "Was there something, Amerika?"

Black spots danced in front of his vision as America fumed and ranted at the icy nation for daring to ignore the Hero of the World. He really did need to get some oxygen soon. He couldn't exactly _die_ from suffocation, but it certainly wouldn't be pleasant. He flailed his one free hand, hoping America would shake off his righteous indignation and notice.

"You're sitting on my brother again, dude."

"Oh?" Russia sounded confused. Hoser. "Your brother, Amerika?"

"Canada, you dick!" America snapped. "For the love of McDonald's, Ivan, your countries are only like a couple miles apart!"

"Ah, little Canada. I was not being aware he was here, comrade."

"Well he _is_ and he's underneath your drunken _ass_ so move!"

The weight bearing him down into the hard wooden chair lifted, and Matthew Williams took a huge, heaving breath. Coughing slightly, he picked up Kumajiro from the floor and nodded to his twin.

"Thanks, Al," he said, wincing at how scratchy and _weak_ his voice sounded; how weak it always sounded. America just waved a hand.

"No problem, bro."

"It's just…you're not usually so," Canada replied hesitantly. "You know, vehement about it. Half the time you forget I'm here too." He tangled his fingers together in front of Kumajiro, staring at the floor. He could hear Russia now pestering China, with Japan vainly attempting to mediate. England and France had started a fist-fight in the corner, predictably about Arthur's crappy food and Francis' perversions, while Italy nagged Germany to ditch the meeting with him to go grab some pasta. The squabbling was so routine by now that Canada could just tune it all out; it seemed he had heard every conversation a hundred times before while he sat unnoticed in the corner. America always noticed him, of course, but tended to ignore his soft-spoken brother in favor of trying to run the world at large. America's sudden annoyed defense of him was a departure from the usual, an anomaly he couldn't quite figure out. The taller man flopped into his chair with a massive breath, running his hands over his hair as though he could actually smooth down Nantucket.

"I dunno, Mattie, I guess I've just been thinking. You know, my economy is in the tank, the political system is in complete fucking chaos, and my people are quite frankly becoming bigger jerks than usual," Alfred began slowly. "I mean, I love them but it's like they're not happy unless they have someone to _hate_, someone to exclude or discriminate against, and it's only getting worse. And I thought- well, they're a part of me, right? So maybe it's my…you know…"

"Fault?" Canada replied with a grin. He'd never seen anyone so unable to admit when they were wrong as his brother. America could barely _say_ the word, much less apply it to himself.

"Yeah."

His voice was so sincere that Canada actually made eye contact for once. Alfred had his hands on his knees now, cheeks pink as he stared very hard at the carpet.

"And I thought that maybe if I tried harder to pay attention to other people, to what they said and thought for a while, it would be a start on making everything better. Of all the people I don't pay enough attention to, Mattie, you're the most important."

"Alfie…"

"Once I thought about that, I realized how much it ticks me off that the others don't notice you. I mean, sometimes I ignore you but at least I can fucking SEE you. And England and France raised us, for God's sakes. How they forget about you I just don't understand."

"It's okay, Alfie." Canada leaned forwards and put his hand overtop one of his brother's, clasping his fingers tight. "It's enough that you do."

"No it isn't." Alfred's hand gave his a quick squeeze. "I'm going to change that, Matt. I've got a plan."

"Oh dear maple, America," Canada groaned. "Not another one of your cockamamie schemes."

America laughed, heading over to where England and France were dangerously close to knocking the coffee tray out the window. "It's gonna be epic, bro. Magnificent, even!"

Canada sighed heavily. America's idea of "epic" usually involved a great deal of booze and humiliation.

.

The first half of his statement proved to be incredibly prophetic. America had adjourned the meeting for the night shortly after their talk, suggesting they "relocate to a more congenial establishment for some team building" (a statement delivered in his best mimic of England's accent). Surprisingly all the members of the G8 had agreed, and here they all were- ensconced in a British-style pub in Manhattan and drowning their enmity in admittedly tasty lager. America had become more and more animated with each pint, laughing at England's attempts to match him drink for drink and keeping one arm firmly around Canada's neck to keep him from escaping into the background. China was already deep into his cups, snuggling an incredibly unwilling Japan and wailing about how "uncute and ungrateful" his little brother had become. England appeared to be switching between maudlin sniffles about how America hated him and commiserating with China about miserably bratty younger siblings. France and Italy were splitting their fifth bottle of red wine, alternating between Pinot Noir and Barbera d'Asti to "keep it fair, ve". Germany and Russia appeared to be trying to goad America into a drinking contest. Canada sighed- that did not bode well. He and America had a higher alcohol tolerance than any of the other nations in the world, and Germany and Russia were incredibly grouchy when they lost at what they viewed as a national pastime. The last time they team-drank the two under the table was right before the Cold War began. In fact, Canada had his suspicions that Ivan losing a _vodka_ drinking contest to Alfred was what really sparked off that conflict.

"Nah, let's start tonight off with drinking songs, instead! It'll be awesome, man!" Alfred enthused, dragging Germany's arm and shoving him towards the front of the bar. ""Come on, dude, I _know_ you Germans have tons of boss drinking songs."

Germany actually blushed, something Canada had only seen him do in the face of Italy's unadulterated brand of affection. "Ja, we do. But I don't think…"

"Dear Gods, don't _think_. Drink and sing! Drink and sing! Drink and sing!"

Alfred shoved another mug into Ludwig's hand, and made shooing motions. "G'wan."

Surprisingly, Germany did. His booming voice was actually rather boisterous as he led the bar in a few rousing choruses of a familiar favorite, then launched into another when he was met with applause and cheers. Alfred beamed at Matthew, his eyes sparkling merrily behind Texas' lenses, and squeezed him a little with the arm around his shoulders.

"My ridiculously circuitous plan is one third complete, bro," he muttered in his ear. Canada grinned again, caught up in America's infectious gaiety.

"I can't believe you know the definition of the word circuitous."

"I'm hurt, Mattie, I really am."

"Liar."

America stuck his tongue out childishly, but nearly bit it off when he was wrapped in a bone-crushing hug from behind.

"Ammmmeericaaaaa," England breathed drunkenly. "You're ignoooooorrrringggg me again. Why do you do that? You used to be sooooooo cute, and now you're an ungrateful brat who hates me!"

"England, this is why you shouldn't try to drink with Alfred," Matt said, rolling his eyes. "You're going to regret saying this crap in front of an audience tomorrow."

"Shut up, Canada! You're a brat too." Matt rolled his eyes a second time. For some reason, England could always see him when he was plastered; maybe it was because he looked so much like America. "You're getting too much like your brother."

"Lay off Mattie, Arthur. And for God's sake, when are you going to let the Revolution _go, _man?" America wheezed a little as England's arms tightened further. "It was over two centuries ago." A tiny bit of a whine entered his brother's voice then. "Can't you just see me as an equal, after everything I've accomplished? Will I always just be some rebellious kid to you?"

Canada frowned slightly, his heart sinking. He had known of course that his twin had far more complicated reasons for the Revolution than just his freedom, just as he had always known England was depressed over more than just the loss of a resource and little brother. The thing was, neither of _them_ seemed to notice it in the other, and also seemed to have an unspoken agreement to keep needling each other over the obvious while ignoring their true emotions. England blinked slightly at the saddened tone of the young superpower's statement, his arms sliding away from his waist to hang limply at his own sides.

"Alfred…"

America shook his head vigorously. "I'm not talking about this now, Arthur. Maybe not ever. Besides, Mattie and I have something to do."

"We do?"

"Damn straight." Alfred grabbed his wrist and marched them both to the front of the bar where Ludwig had just finished his most recent sing-a-long. He jumped up onto the bar and addressed the rest of the G8 with his usual verve, all notes of the angst before expertly buried beneath his "look at me, I'm just a harmless narcissist" mask.

"It's the Hero's turn now! But tonight, I'm not singing about America _or _heroes!"

"Tell us another one," China snorted. Japan hid a drunken giggle behind his hand.

"You suck, Kiku. You're supposed to be my best friend. Anyway, tonight I'm singing a song with my brother- his new national anthem!"

"Mathieu has a new national anthem?" France inquired. "Since when?"

"Since now! It's not an official anthem, but it totally says everything about Canada in a single go, and is way cooler than the lame song he's got now!"

"Oh, no, Alfred, not-"

"Yes!"

To Matt's utter chagrin, Alfred began to sing with gusto, animatedly gesturing along with the words.

"_When I look around me, I can't believe what I see. It seems as if his country has lost the will to live! The economy is lousy, he barely has an army, but he can still stand proudly 'cause Canada's really big!"_

Grinning wildly, his brother held a hand out and he took it without thinking; dragged up on top of the bar by America's ridiculous strength. Those shining blue eyes, that puppy dog look on the same face he saw in the mirror every morning- Matt (helped along by 8 or 9 pints) caved, joining his twin on the next verse.

"_We're the second largest country on this planet Earth, and if Russia" _Alfred threw a saucy wink to Ivan, who saluted with his vodka "_keeps on shrinking, then soon we will be first!"_

"_As long as I keep Quebec…The USA has tanks," _an ironic bow from Alfred_ "and Switzerland has banks. They can keep them thanks, they just don't amount. Cause when you get down to it, you'll find out what the truth is- it isn't what you do with it, it's the size that counts!"_

The entire bar was clapping along with them now, Italy and France cat-calling at the last, suggestive lyrics. Canada felt himself beaming right along with America, belting out the absurd tune at the top of his lungs.

"_Most people will tell you that France is pretty large" _Matt threw the wink to Francis this time _"but you could put 14 Frances into this land of ours!"_

"_But it'd take a lot of work…." _

"_It'd take a whole lot of work. We're larger than Malaysia, almost as big as Asia, we're larger than Australia and it's a continent! So big we seldom bother to go see one another, though we often go to other countries for vacation."_

Matt was really getting into the song now, acting out the words as crazily as Alfred, because everyone was actually _seeing_ him. The North America twins took a huge exaggerated breath and launched into the final verse together, Matt throwing his arm around Alfred's shoulders.

"_Our mountains are very pointy, our prairies are not. The rest is kinda bumpy, but man have we got a lot! We've got a lot of land. We've got a whole lot of land…So stand up and be proud and sing out very loud. We stand out from the crowd 'cause Canadaaaaa's really big!"_

.

Matt stumbled tipsily through the door to Alfred's house, barely remembering to hold it for his twin. America followed soon after, muttering a sulfurous curse under his breath as he weaved into the hall carrying a barely-conscious England on his back.

"I swear, Mattie, this guy…"

He snickered in response, too giddy over his night to make too much fun of his wayward 'big brother' mumbling nonsense into America's neck. He had thought it was so stupid at first- Alfred dragging him up to sing some idiot song in front of a bar full of people- but it had worked. The whole night, the others not only saw him but spoke to him. Directly. Without talking to Alfred first. Of course, Ivan and Ludwig had demanded a rematch drinking contest later, which Arthur had been ridiculous enough to try and join. The Brit had been passing in and out of awareness since somewhere after his ninth pint, Ivan dropped out at fourteen to follow China back to his hotel(claiming beer was the wrong alcohol for a real drinking contest anyway), and Ludwig had voluntarily left the game to molest Feliciano at sixteen. Matthew and Alfred had joyously and loudly proclaimed victory, downing two more pints just for emphasis while Francis and Kiku retreated to their hotels as well. It was about that time that they both noticed Arthur beginning to snore at one of the tables, and Alfred hoisted him onto his back for the short walk to his New York apartment.

Now the elder twin was attempting to maneuver Arthur into the spare bedroom without falling over himself, tucking his unexpected guest under the blankets with more tenderness than Matt expected. Alfred brushed his fingers gently though Arthur's bangs to trace one bushy eyebrow, snatching his hand back guiltily when England murmured his name. He started again when he saw Canada leaning against the doorframe.

"Heya, Mattie. Didn't see you there. I swear that wasn't as weird as it looked like."

Canada snorted at his brother's uncharacteristic awkwardness, noticing that behind him on the bed England had cracked open one bright green eye to stare morosely at Alfred's broad back. Time to meddle.

"So when are you going to tell him you've been in love with him for like three hundred years?"

Ha! That one eye widened almost comically as Alfred sputtered.

"How about half past _never_? And quit it with the creepy twin psychic bit, okay? England will never see me as anything but that obnoxious kid that left him. He doesn't see _me_, Mattie. You talk about being invisible?" Alfred laughed bitterly, running his hands through his already unruly hair. "I'm so _un_invisible that they don't bother to try and see past that loud hero routine. I mean, so a lot of the time that's me, sure. But I get sad and frustrated and scared like everyone else."

"Anyone who's seen you after a horror film or ghost story knows you get scared, stupid."

Alfred stuck out his tongue again. "Shut it, you. But honestly, Matt? You know the reason they see me and not you is because I _make them._ I make it so they can't possibly ignore me, because that's what I had to do to put my country where it is. Face it- we're both too young and they have too much history with each other for us to get anywhere any other way. I won't be one of those weak nations who drifts through history like Feliks does, and you can't be either. We're made for better stuff, you and me, bro."

"Al, I'm not like you…"

"Horseshit. You just need to be around them who you are around me. Still polite and a bit accommodating, yeah; but with moments of pure, epic magnificence. You burned my capitol down once, dude. Where's that fire gone now? Where are those brass-plated balls we inherited from the old pirate here?"

Matt smiled then, watching England curl tighter into the blanket with tears starting to form in his eyes. "Maybe I can get them back. With your help, of course."

"Of course!" America punctuated that statement with his right fist smacked in his open left palm. "That's what the hero does, little brother!"

"Hoser."

"Retard."

"So, about telling him…"

"Get off it, Matt." Alfred reached behind himself without looking to trail long fingers through England's hair, the elder man's eyes almost like saucers now. "Iggy has better things to do than listen to love confessions from 'bratty, ungrateful kids'. I swore when I declared independence that I was doing it so I could protect his grumpy ass for once, and I won't break that promise now." A wistful smile. "Even if it means protecting him from dealing with my own idiocy. Even if he hates me for it."

"I don't think he hates you Alfie. Not at all." Matt spoke straight to his former guardian, now hiding his face in the pillow to conceal his crying. Fortunately, Alfred was too drunk to notice the object of his unwitting declaration was actually awake. It would certainly be interesting to watch this unfold from the sidelines. The tsundere match of the century, really, and ample payback for all the crap America _had _put him through over the years. One pub-sing and a few warm fuzzies weren't going to compensate for years of being an obstreperous wanker- that much he _did_ pick up from the former pirate.

America rose from his perch on the bed and dragged Canada across the hall to his own bedroom, stripping off quickly and pushing him to do the same while dropping their glasses on the nightstand. The two curled around each other in bed as they had often done when they were small (and sometimes for comfort in World War II, even if Al would never admit it), legs tangled and chests pressed together so each could feel his twin's heartbeat. Alfred muttered sleepily into Matthew's hair.

"Sorry Iggy shoved you out of the spare room."

"It's okay. I'd rather be here." Silence for a few moments, then... "Thanks, Al. It was epic and magnificent, just like you said. Stupid, but epic."

A chuckle that he felt rather than heard, the vibrations travelling effortlessly from his brother's body to his own. "Course it was. That's what the North America brothers are- epic and magnificent. And maybe a little stupid."

Alfred drew back slightly, pressing his forehead to Matt's and rubbing their noses together. "But I can deal with that. How 'bout you?"

"Yeah." Matt leaned in to press his lips gently to his twin's. "I can deal with that."


End file.
